The Couch

Ten at night with the temperature sitting above hundred and ten, the air conditioner just short-circuited. The outside air – motionless. Perspiration flowed; it was hell with no end in sight.

Then an idea!

We stole the neighbor's couch; shredded it and lined her with plastic painters sheets. Once done, we filled her up.

Instant body cooler. We climbed in, watched TV and drank our beers in glory.

Ninety minutes later a knock, it was the police. The issue, we were on probation. If caught, nine months in the big house.

We would need to burn that couch.

The Couch by K. Saitta © 2015, A Walk In Verse

The Country Home

It was a beautiful country house with a dark history. But the Williams didn’t care. They only thought of one thing, tripling their investment from this mansion that sat upon a hundred acres.

Ignoring the warnings, they sold everything and purchased it.

A year later, it was time to cash in. The house went up for sale. However, unlike the Williams, the potential buyers heeded the warnings.

You see, this mansion used to be a single story brothel. Men would satisfy themselves, and then dismember their victims. The remains were molded into lumber.

And from this, the mansion stands.

The Country Home by K. Saitta © 2015, A Walk In Verse

The House Around the Corner

Down the street, around the corner, sat a charming house decorated in white. She rose two stories toward the sky, surrounded by a whitewashed fence; the kind you saw when you visited grandma's house. And she would win your heart. It was love, at first sight.

But if you stopped and listened, she whispered, "Keep out, or die."

For she was alive. Behind those French laden doors lay the most demonic of creatures. She peered into the hearts of men from her bay windows. She enticed them with her beauty while veiling her eyes with the frail shutters she wore. And when crossing her threshold, she rained seduction upon their souls. There was no turning back.

Those that entered her womb, she aborted with fury. She turned men against women until murder flowed into their subconscious. And when they lay across her bosom, caressing her every curve, she became their only desire. Self-destruction became their world. They carelessly plunged into the abyss of her wretchedness; fallen, smitten by her dark brown planks of love. They filled her wooden veins with their last ounce of blood.

And as I turned the handle, I knew, but I walked into that house anyway.

The House Around the Corner by K. Saitta © 2015, A Walk In Verse

The Wedding Present

The newlyweds burst into tears when their grandparents offered them an incredible gift; a house, with one condition. They had to use the paint the previous owner left for the interior.

Without hesitation, they willingly agreed.

The next morning they raced to their brand-new home. Upon entering, they noticed in the middle of the room a note taped to a bucket. It read, "The rest is in the basement, have fun."

They removed the lid, laughed and said, "what a dark, sexy inky red this is." Let the games begin!

Without a brush, they plunged their hands in, smearing it on the walls, and each other. Oh, what fun, they roared! Once the can was empty, into the basement they ran.

And what a horrific scene it was. Red liquid dripped from the ceiling. It covered everything in sight. Alarmed, they turned to the left observing chainsaws and butcher knives soaked with this liquid substance. The bride leaps back in terror. Glancing to her right — dismembered human remains.

They screamed in horror; "this is human blood, not paint!"

Sitting on death row they learned their grandparents made a deal with the mob. Twenty years later, the debt was paid.

The Wedding Present by K. Saitta © 2015, A Walk In Verse

Sunday Service

Eight o'clock Sunday morning kids up, dressed and ready for church. The family huddles for the morning hug. Once done dad yells, "BREAK!" as they sprint to the van. Baby in the back, teens in the middle, mom and dad sitting front and center. Dad storms off to church as mom screeches, "What beautiful children, we have my dear!".

Thirty minutes later they arrive. Worried they were going to be late for the special ceremony, dad smiled at the children and said, "Wait here for mommy and me, we will be right back."

Exiting the van, hand in hand, they make their way to the church. Upon entering, mom glances back, waves, and then close the doors behind her. Turning towards the altar, she draws the shotgun out from under her skirt. As she waits anxiously, dad continues forward. He steals the money from the offering plates, shoving it into his pockets. Before the reverend finished the prayer, dad tabulated the earnings and yelled, "What a blessing the Lord has presented this day!"

Frighten by the yell, a baby awakens screaming in terror. Immediately, the clergymen spring to their feet, noticing offering plates scattered upon the floor, and a man dressed like a priest running down the center aisle towards the door. Not grasping what has happened, they yell, "Stop! Call the police, we have a thief in the house of God!"

Before another word was expired, mom fired, blasting Jesus and the crucifix. Dad plummeted to the floor as he watched in horror as the cross decapitated the preacher. In that instance, they knew arrest was inevitable. They would be incarcerated; taken to the midlands for execution.

This idea, they were not entertaining.

Into the van, without a sound, dad rushed off. With the accelerator pinned, he drove like an asshat on crack. Two red lights, then four, hitting ninety miles an hour, blowing by the cops, the pursuit was on. Dad screamed, "Good Lord, were through!" Heading for the freeway, he accelerated to evade the cops. Veering in and out of traffic he smashed everything in sight. He thought for sure this would stop them. But not this time, the police closed in, they were determined.

Knowing it was only a matter of seconds before they were apprehended, he laughed sadistically as he looked to his children, and then his wife, screaming, "They're not taking us alive."

Sunday Service by K. Saitta © 2015, A Walk In Verse

Sally

One Friday night Sally was home alone. She danced to the tunes of her favorite Beatles album as she prepared for the auctions. She packed every single knick-knack she knocked off around the neighborhood, with care. Tomorrow, come noon, she will score big. In those boxes sat a gold mine of cash.

Startled by a flash, she turns viewing the emergency alert, "Rapist escaped, last seen on Downey Street, armed and dangerous!"

At once, she ran and locked the doors and windows, waiting with the shotgun by her side. Thirty minutes later a knock, a click - the lock got picked. Sally stood fast, waiting to teach this pervert a lesson. As the door crept open, she seized her assailant's attention; stripping and spinning as the sick bastard watched and sung a melody to bring fear. But to his surprise, she grabbed him, shoving the defender of death into his gut, forcing him to masturbate. And when he least expected it, she reached in — SLASH, CUT — pureed at high speed, right into a cup.

With the barrel pointed, taking his last breath, he forced himself to drink. BANG — she blew out his chest.

Eleven o'clock news — Rapist found dead.

Sally by K. Saitta © 2015, A Walk In Verse

Case Closed

When Megan was young, she heard whispers everywhere. Many believed it to be the devil, others swore spirits of the dead. They didn't realize this was a gift, a gift allowing her to transcend time.

As the years past, the whispers transformed into vocals of rage. They sang of terror, of murder, of mayhem, forcing her to watch as their songs unfolded.

She would cry, "No more! Make it stop!" But the haunting continued. The time arrived for her to welcome this gift.

She joined the force and rose through the ranks. She worked day and night, case after case. Every case assigned; she closed! The felons would plead for mercy; for they knew and dared not challenge. In return, they received life without parole, instead of the electric chair.

Then one day, things changed. She was assigned a case involving a young girl that was beaten and left for dead. The damage was unimaginable. Sickened by the report, she went home and slept until the voices came telling of the horrors.

"Megan, three men entered. The organizer, in his twenties, was whipping the child mercilessly. The second feckless perpetrator suffocated the girl to the point of unconsciousness. The third shattered her eye socket and jaw. They raped her Megan; they left her for dead."

Awoken, she could bear no more. "Justice must prevail!" she cried.

She calls in the lead at once, checks her weapons and heads out. Within sixty minutes, she arrived at their location. She storms the building finding the three men, stinking of whiskey, out cold. One by one, she served them justice. She slit their throats, stretching their tongues through the opening. The mark of a Mafia hit, the Columbian necktie. They each gasped their last breath. Once finished, she fled unseen.

The next morning the newspapers read, "Gang violence: three men found butchered in their apartment."

Her colleagues, aware of her ongoing investigation, worried she may have been one of those murdered during the attacks. When Megan walked into the precinct, relief overwhelmed them.

The case was now closed.

As she headed towards her office, the Captain replied, "Megan, we deal with so many cases that never get resolved. You, however, never stop to amaze me. How could you have known the mob targeted these animals for assassination?"

She turns towards the Captain and smiles as he assigns her the next case.

Case Closed by K. Saitta © 2015, A Walk In Verse